


to dean winchester on his 50th birthday

by baehj2915



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apple Pie Life (Supernatural), But also unmarried, Cas Institutes A Composting Regimen And Compliance Is Mandatory, Castiel Wears Dean Winchester's Clothes, Commitment, Date Night, Dean Winchester Grows Old, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Domestic Castiel (Supernatural), Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Introspective Dean Winchester, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Plant Dad Castiel, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Retired Hunter Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff, Semi-Retired Actually, So Married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baehj2915/pseuds/baehj2915
Summary: Dean just wasn’t going to dignify that with a response because as of tomorrow morning he would be fifty.Dean was going to pretend for at least a week he could have some dignity now as a birthday present to himself.~*~
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. yes i'm workin all the time

**Author's Note:**

> having lived in some manner of peace for several years after abandoning this treasonous example of "entertainment media" in a fit of extremely justified rage, nov 2020 happened and my winchester derangement syndrome was reignited. i cannot express enough how angry i am about this. i hate this show so much. it is so bad and does not deserve me writing through my feelings for it but, you know, characterrrrsssssssssssssssssss. 
> 
> everyone deserved a softer end, and a better story the way through, so like, that's what i'm doing with my most felt feelings. 
> 
> i realized i won't finish this whole thing before january 24, so i'm just gonna upload in parts around dean's birthday.
> 
> the title is a joke in the loosest sense of the word. it's a reference to a 90s movie called 'to gillian on her 37th birthday' which is about a guy who can't stop mourning his dead wife so hard he forgets to live! which dean kinda did. but just mostly based on the title to explain dean is alive and turning 50. i assumed maybe 2 people would get a sensible chuckle from this and therefore i had to use it. i live to underwhelm. 
> 
> this story is set in some kind of vaguely defined canon au where the very bad spn finale didn't happen Like That, dean **did** save cas from the empty in a move of narrative symmetry and catharsis mirroring cas saving him from hell that would have rocked my world for literal years, and then a character who struggled with depression didn't die prematurely because you can only find happiness in death ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. IDIOTS. 
> 
> anyway, here's a story about a date night. 
> 
> ~*~

~*~

Dean’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his coveralls. It was a text from Sam. He checked the time first but it was only 8 minutes from the last time he looked.

_Eileen found Russ McGrath. We should finish by tonight._

Dean frowned. That was quick. He sent off a reply: **but ur coming back sunday still right??**

_No Dean we are not coming back early._

**You better not i will be walking around naked all day tomorrow so just keep that in mind  
And im hiding all of Cas’s clothes too  
That will not change if you 2 come back early**

_Yeah I’m going to erase that from my phone and my brain now. Don’t worry we’re not going to interrupt your gross day of debauchery._

Dean scoffed at Sam’s put upon tone. Like Sam and Eileen weren’t going to take full advantage of their sexile in Santa Rosa. Dean would’ve bet everything in his wallet that the hustle in their step finding some guys bones had very little to do with the general threat level and more to do with having a full day off tomorrow away from the bunker. 

A text from Eileen popped up: _you’re welcome_ followed by a winky face emoji, a champagne popping emoji, and an eggplant emoji. 

Dean rolled his eyes. **I think you meant thank you  
Thank you dean for using your birthday to give me a romantic weekend in sunny warm new mexico in january**

She shot back: _send me to a resort and i’ll give you a ty. and we are on a job here._

**Youre a resourceful girl im sure you can work something out  
Now stop texting me  
Ive got to transition to date night**

Of course he got another text in reply, because his life was filled with spiteful, contrary bastards who all thought they were funny. It was just another eggplant emoji, but she did that thing Dean didn’t know how to do where it exploded like little word bubbles all over the screen when he looked at it. Then she sent another text that read, _make sure you clean up after yourselves_ and Dean just wasn’t going to dignify that with a response because as of tomorrow morning he would be fifty.

Dean was going to pretend for at least a week he could have some dignity now as a birthday present to himself. 

Despite intending that “stop texting me” message to be both real and for the both of them, after a few seconds he got another message from Sam.

_Weather report says snow flurries for tonight. Maybe you should go out tomorrow or next week._

Dean rolled his eyes and sent: **I know  
Reservations booked  
Baby got her snow tires  
Its fine**

Dean slid his phone back in his pocket, but there was a hesitation before the next buzz where he could almost feel the incoming nagging reverberating through the cell signal. He was just going to ignore it. That resolve only lasted about four seconds though, and he checked his phone again.

_So I’ll see you and Cas Sunday unless you both die in a car crash because you really wanted to get birthday steak in a snowstorm??_

Ever since Dean’s surgery, Sam was still in worry mode all the time, mother henning over every little thing. Dean’s fucked up knee was not the end of the world. It didn’t suddenly mean Dean was fucking incompetent. It was like 35 years of driving experience, legal driving at least, meant nothing to this man. Fuck, Dean had once driven Sam and their father to the hospital in a complete white out blizzard, hydroplaning half the way through Mankato, without a scratch or a skid. Now there was a snowstorm. 

**Its only supposed to be 1-2 inches  
Its the best steak in KS  
Its my birthday and its date night so I’m fuckin going  
I know I’m turning 50 but Im not actually on the brink of death  
Pls unclench Samantha **

Dean could see the exact image of Sam’s prissy bitchface he was undoubtedly making in hi-def clarity as if Sam were right in the garage with him. Of course he could; Dean had only seen it every day of his life.

After a moment Dean added: **Cas isn’t worried either**. Which got a quick response.

_Cas does not react normally to danger._

A very funny response from Sam Winchester, or in a conversation for the Winchesters at all. Everyone in the family could clean, assemble, and load a shotgun in their sleep. No one here even remembered what a normal response to danger was. 

Sam added quickly, _Fine just drive careful please. And call so we know you get home safe._

Dean resisted the urge to text him that gif of that guy doing a jerk off motion that Claire used.

**If Im not too busy getting laid.**

Dean checked the time again. It was only 2:16 but he decided he might as well call it a day. His mind had not been on the job all day. All he really managed to do was disassemble and clean the existing parts of the engine he was keeping. Between the donuts Mimi and Jake brought in for his birthday, standing around the coffee pot shooting the shit, getting hassled for turning fifty, getting hassled for busting his knee right before turning fifty, and thinking about date night tonight, there hadn’t been much time for the Cadillac he was working on.

The reservation was at 7:00 pm, but it was about a two-hour drive, longer if it did start snowing. He needed to shower and get garage stink off him. He had to take Miracle for a walk. He had to corral Cas into getting dressed on time, or he’d be sitting around in his slutty yoga pants reading some forbidden text on omens or some shit until quarter after 5 if Dean let him. He needed to leave early for logistics.

Not because he wanted to get back to Cas.

Not _only_ because he wanted to get back to Cas.

Really, Dean would have left at lunch if he hadn’t felt a twinge of guilt for shirking his responsibilities. It was his first week back after his time off from his knee surgery and he hadn’t gotten much done all week. But he’d spent most of the day debating himself on how early was too early to leave. He figured after 2:00 was safe. Not too early. Not overcompensating by working a full shift. Like really, who could expect that of him? 

Sam’s text came in after another minute and it said, _Gross._

Dean laughed and put his phone in his pocket, hoping he succeeded at least in getting Sam to stop texting for the rest of the night. The last thing he wanted on any date night was run interference against his brother’s persistent cockblocking skills that seemed to work no matter the geographical distance between them.

He was underneath the body of a 1939 Cadillac 75 Series town car. It was some vintage collector’s from Denver who’d been waiting to commission Dean for a restoration for the last five months. Partly due to Dean’s surprise meniscus repair and partly due to the demand for Dean’s services. Pretty much from November to May Dean was steady booked with back to back commissions from Midwestern collectors who wanted their classic cars in perfect condition for car shows.

So Dean felt bad for leaving early, but not so bad he was ready to rush his 50th birthday date night dinner.

Dean grabbed the underhang of the chrome bumper on the Caddy and pulled his creeper seat out from under the car. He’d been under there for at least 90 minutes, replacing hoses and allowing his knee to rest. Cas had been very pushy and adamant about Dean not overworking his knee the first week back at the garage under some misplaced notion of obligation or pride to prove he was feeling better than he was. Dean said no, of course he wouldn’t do that, he wasn’t an idiot.

Which is, of course, what Dean had been doing all week.

He’d found himself standing for conversations he didn’t need to, carrying things he could have put on a cart, picking up his pace when he should have just slowed down, most of the time he’d been in. And then pretending that spending most of his time after lunch on his wheeled creeper chair was just a coincidence.

So when Dean stood up and let out a noise like an elderly bear deflating under a boulder, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Dean paused and stood up straighter, squaring his shoulders, hoping his face wasn’t beet red.

The garage he worked in was small-- part of a series of buildings at Jake’s Repair & Restoration-- only two lift stations and was used almost exclusively for custom work. The two mechanics at the other station were young guys named RJ and Luís. Dean took only classic cars for repairs, refits, and restoration. RJ and Luís did custom paints, decals, refurbs, and tech upgrades mostly. Sometimes they worked together on a project when someone wanted work done on a classic body with high tech upgrades to the guts and electronics.

But the extent of Dean’s relationship to RJ and Luís could really only be described was “guys in a garage.” They talked about cars and not much else. Although he and Luís did spend last summer heatedly updating each other about the season tournament for Wrestlefest when they were visiting Kansas City. They knew Dean was with a man, and actually seemed to, like, not want to offend what they thought were Dean’s gay sensibilities. Which was awkward but nice. So there wasn’t even much traditional macho bullshit Dean had been used to with “guys in a garage” when he was younger. But the closest they got to bonding was basically insulting each other and laughing about it.

Which is why when RJ looked at Dean with genuine concern, actually holstering his airbrush pen on the cart next to him, and said, “Whoa, bruh, you okay?” Dean nearly collapsed under the weight of mortification.

Luís also walked under the hydraulic lift from the other side of the ugly ass Hummer they were detailing, apparently looking to see what happened.

Nothing had happened. Sure, it sounded like Dean had slammed his hand under the hood or maybe been crushed under a falling engine block. But no, he _stood up_. The resulting old man noises he made were enough to inspire alarm and worry in the faces of the two twentysomethings who he’d once seen try to prank each other by spraying each other’s clothes and food with liquid rubber sealant.

Christ, he was so fucking old.

Dean ignored the heated feeling on his face, rolled out his shoulders to appear at maximum height and size, and tried to pull a big bad hunter expression, like he was considering kicking RJ’s ass. What he was actually doing was feeling out if his knee was locked up or not, or if maybe as a surprise his back was causing the trouble this time, because that was the stage of life he was at now. Any part of him could just go into catastrophic failure if he moved the wrong way, apparently.

“You alright, man?” Luís said.

“I'm good, man, just shaking the dust off.” 

“You sure?” RJ said.

Dean gestured to himself, firmly on two feet, and even took a few steps to prove he could walk. He didn't even limp. It wasn’t even that much of a front. Yeah, he’d overdone it a little during the week, but the low throb wasn’t too bad. His knee didn’t feel like giving out. He would be fine and that wasn’t a lie.

“What are you now? The littlest candy striper that could? I'm good.” 

“Dude, Mimi told us look out for you so you don't fuck up your knee again.” 

Dean frowned. “Mimi isn't the--” Well she was the boss of him, technically speaking. It'd been almost 7 years but Dean still wasn't used to being, you know, legally employed. “She's not my mom. There's no honor and being a narc, RJ.”

Luís added, “Mimi said Cas said to send your ass home if you tried to push yourself too hard. Blame your man, bro.”

Dean halted his own eyeroll despite the fact that Cas wasn't there to see and be bitchy about it. Dean had expected a more involved level of fussing-- _which he’d gotten_. The past few years a lot of Cas’s energy and remaining sense of militaristic purpose was dedicated to his very elaborate indoor/outdoor gardening system. Dean’s knee had been bad for years, but it swelled up about twice its size after getting thrown in the woods during a hunt and proceeded to get swiftly worse. The fact that fall coincided with the end of gardening season turned about roughty 99% of Cas’s attention to him. Aside from the “definitely long term lifestyle changes you will need to make for your health,” Cas wouldn’t shut up about “gentle, limited exercise” and a diet regimen to “promote joint suppleness” because his knees were “basically arthritic already, do you want a total knee replacement surgery in five years? Dean, are you listening?” 

But Dean hadn’t expected spies. Brazen colluding against him, like Dean couldn't be trusted to just say when his knee was hurting too bad and needed a break. 

That was pretty much true and basically why Dean’s bad achy knee had evolved into a bad torn meniscus surgery in the first place, but it still felt insulting. 

“Yeah, well I was going home for the day anyway so save yourself the trouble of reporting to Mimi.” Who was apparently reporting to Cas. Dean knew teaching Cas to use a cell phone had been a mistake. 

Luís made a whip crack sound, and then both those little pissants broke into laughter. Which was at least better than being concerned for his safety just for standing up.

“I’m not—my knee is fine. I’m not just leaving early because Cas said. I have to,” Dean realized too late exactly what he was doing. Trying to get out of one embarrassing hole by digging a different one. “Get ready,” Dean finished lamely.

That made them laugh harder.

“Yeah, be fair,” RJ said to Luís. “He’s got the big five-oh steakhouse dinner date tonight. He’s got to get moving if they want to be home in time for Jeopardy.”

Dean frowned. He had not brought up date night plans specifically to Luís or RJ. He had probably mentioned it at some point to Mimi or Jake during the week. But the truth was he didn’t really need to say anything, because Dean did the same thing every year on his birthday. 

In fact he had a monthly date night with Cas, but it was only for his birthday he bothered driving all the way to Junction City to go to Hanneman’s. Which he’d done the entire time he’d worked at Jake’s. 

He always got a fresh trim at the barbershop the week of his birthday. He always ran Baby through the carwash the morning of his birthday. He always bought donuts for the garage, and a piece of pie for himself, from the Sweet Shack down the road. This year was the only difference, with Mimi Herrera, Jake’s wife and office manager, beating him to the donuts due to the honor of turning fifty. He always made a reservation at Hanneman’s, the best steakhouse west of Kansas City, at the same table he liked in the dark corner. He always left work a little earlier than he normally would. He always got the 20-ounce ribeye and always had a steak sandwich for lunch the next workday.

And obviously, Dean didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, that’s why he did it every year. He had reasons for liking the sedate, normal routine he’d never really had in his life before semi-retiring from hunting.

But he also deeply understood why it made the two single dudes that were, literally now, half his age, and had spent the better part of the afternoon loudly talking about what clubs they were going to hit up that weekend, laugh out loud. He couldn’t help but look at himself through them and he saw an old man who sounded pained when he stood up too quick, didn’t know how cars made after the year 2000 worked, and had predictable scheduled dates in stolid boring steakhouses where other old couples had predictable scheduled dates.

The shitty twenty-five-year-old Dean that still occupied some part of his brain, the one that would only half ironically say shit like _live fast die young_ , would be a little jealous now at the stability he had. Shitty twenty-five-year-old Dean probably would also be killed stone dead to see himself settled down, working a civilian job more often than hunting, and married to a man. And then would probably pop right back out of the grave just to call him lame for betraying his freedom and manliness in such a godawful boring way.

He had no idea how to tell them they were wrong-- Luís and RJ, and shitty twenty-five-year-old Dean too. That the boring part couldn’t possibly be boring to him anymore because he was happy to be alive now, even if it meant getting old. Because he was too in love, and yeah goddamn it, fucking whipped to think the boring part was boring or that freedom was anywhere else than in choosing what he chose.

The boring part was the icing on his birthday cake. 

Being alive enough to savor the mundane was also proof that he wasn’t the same anymore. That, and the idea of doing now what he thought was fun when he was twenty-five made him fucking exhausted just thinking about it. 

So the only thing Dean said was, “Actually on Friday nights we watch the new Dr. Sexy reboot,” and let them laugh some more.

As much as he wanted to get back home, it took a while to actually leave. He lingered at his station out of necessity and good housekeeping mostly, but also because he was mildly disgruntled over being harassed by twentysomethings. So he rushed through clean up, put away his tools and oil rags, brought the car back down to her wheels, and took some time with the degreaser to get his nails somewhere approaching clean enough for date night. By the time he tarped the Caddy it was almost 3:00.

He was hoping to slip out without interruption, but he had to leave through the reception room where Mimi and Elisa, the receptionist and Mimi’s 19-year-old niece, were.

“You gonna try to limp your ass on the dancefloor tonight, birthday boy?” Mimi said.

He replied, “Fuck no. Cas and I don’t dance. Well, at least not on dancefloors. Wait, hey, how much do you and Cas talk? Because I didn’t know you had this conspiratorial life plan thing for me going on. Or is the gossip in this place that bad?”

Mimi ignored his question. “Don’t you go to Hanneman’s?”

Dean nodded. “I think I’m still getting enough knee sympathy to swing breakfast in bed tomorrow too, if I play my cards right.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Dean paused, glancing at Elisa. Dean leaned down and whispered, “Mimi, I’m not gonna tell you about my birthday sex plans with Cas.”

Mimi rolled her eyes and snapped her pen on her clipboard. “You’re still in your coveralls, dumbass. Go air out now. Let me tell you, the last thing I want to smell on a night out on the town is the combined stench of motor oil and sweaty gearhead.”

Dean actually hadn’t wanted to change at work. Normally he did make an effort not to reek like the garage, especially if they were going out, but willing to risk the smell a little longer if it meant that no one would see him wearing a knee brace _and_ a back support belt underneath his coveralls. He didn’t need to look old and feel old all at the same time he was turning fifty. Besides his knee was still sensitive enough that extra changing in and out of shoes and pants a bunch of times drained him.

“Nah, I’ll just get at the grease soap at home.”

“You gonna make it to Junction City in time?”

Elisa frowned without looking up from her phone. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Reservations at 7,” he said automatically, mostly to defend himself from accusations that he was so old he ate dinner before 5:00 pm. 

Mimi said, “Your boyfriend always takes you there on your birthday every year, doesn’t he? It’s sweet.”

Elisa looked up to “aww” at him and then unrepentantly returned to scrolling some incomprehensible social media app on her phone.

Dean bridled a little at her phrasing.

First of all, he’d always thought of his birthday dinner at Hanneman’s, and frankly all of their monthly date nights, as Dean taking Cas out. Dean always drove, because he just did. Dean always paid, because Cas still barely understood the concept of credit cards after all these years, and they’re all under Dean’s names, real and fake, anyway. Dean tried to make more of an effort to look nice on his birthday just so Cas would like it more. Hell, Dean usually bought Cas a gift on Dean’s birthday too because Cas didn’t have one and refused to make up one.

Cas occasionally took Dean on something he thought of as a Cas date. It was sometimes a trip to a museum or planetarium, but mostly a trip to a park or natural landmark, where Cas would talk with personal knowledge about life during the Cambrian era or the glacial events that made the lake they were looking over. Those Cas dates seemed to provide him the same kind of contentment that Dean got from driving Cas someplace in the Impala and feeding him dinner. 

When he was younger, Dean only celebrated his birthday as an excuse to drink more than usual and as a sympathy pickup line for chicks. When he was even younger than that, as a way to score free desserts at restaurants and little else. Now, somehow his birthday was a whole event. Now there was a family friendly portion with cake and candles, and Jack, Claire, Sam, Eileen, and Cas watched a movie with him. Now there was a work portion, where his co-workers roasted him and got him stuff for his workstation. Now there was an exclusive part of his birthday for him and Cas alone, where he could expect everyone to give them special alone time and everyone would go along with it. 

Really, it made Dean think of his birthday as more like an anniversary for him and Cas.

Second of all, Dean fucking hated _boyfriend_. He didn’t really stop people saying it normally, but it was date night and he was turning fifty, goddamn it.

“Do not say boyfriend,” Dean said. “That’s the stupidest word.” 

“What’s wrong with boyfriend?” Elisa said.

“We’re not going to prom. I’m not gonna give him my letterman jacket. Boyfriend is for teenagers or people who are considering other options. Cas and I are very old and basically married.” 

“But you won’t put a ring on it,” she said and that made him startle for a second. “Or is it Cas? Because until he does, you’re still boyfriends.” 

She turned to Mimi conspiratorially. “Which white boy won’t commit? The busted ken doll looking one who’s in love with his car or the old time-y detective one who can’t make small talk to save his life?” 

They both cackled at him. 

“Oh this one for sure,” Mimi said.

“Excuse me, it’s my birthday. I’m just about done with people younger than me bullying me on my birthday.”

“Seriously though, why don’t you get married? Don’t you have kids that are, like, older than me?” Elisa said.

Dean paused for a second because now she wasn’t teasing anymore. And yeah, he was here working a normal job with normal people, mostly passing as a normal person himself, but so much of his life was still redacted and he never expected this to be a thing he couldn’t explain. The things he maybe could talk about-- growing up absolutely terrified of people knowing him as queer, never thinking he’d be alive long enough to actually get married-- he didn’t want to.

He couldn’t tell her how an expensive day in a banquet hall wasn’t more commitment than he had now. He couldn’t relate that he found out about his real capacity for commitment when he was grieving Cas’s death. He couldn’t say that marriage would never compare to knowing Cas had already given up everything for him, felt happiness and love for him when those things weren’t supposed to have been possible. Dean couldn’t even tell her the shitty paranormal romance books she read _wished_ they were half as profound and romantic and enduring as anything he and his goddamn _boyfriend_ had done. And he couldn’t say some nobody county clerk signing a piece of paper couldn’t possibly be more legitimate than literally defying the will of God and Death and Angels to be together. 

He couldn’t say why bother getting married when I already made him my soulmate. 

He couldn’t say despite knowing all that to be true, he kind of wanted to marry Cas anyway. Just because. Because it would make Jack happy. Because “no thanks I’m married” sounded like something he wanted to say. Because forging a birth certificate for a mostly human, formerly immortal wavelength of celestial energy so he could be allowed by the state of Kansas to get married sounded both hilarious and potentially annoying to Cas. Because husband still wasn’t a good enough word for Cas, but it was better than boyfriend or partner or, fucking hell, lover. 

Dean wanted Cas for the rest of time, in this life and the next. And Dean didn’t have the language for that. 

Thank fuck, Mimi could sense the palpable dread coming off Dean, and she stepped in with her niece. “People don’t get married for lots of reasons. Don’t be rude.”

Everyone else at the garage knew Dean Winchester was cagey about his past, his family, but they all thought it was because he was a recovering alcoholic. It was Dean’s background reason for not having a super detailed employment history he could admit to. And hey, not a total lie. They knew Cas as a somewhat reclusive researcher and translator of ancient texts, which was uninteresting enough that people didn’t ask much about it, and sometimes a thing Cas was actually paid to do by other hunters and academic weirdos. They knew the only family Dean and Cas had were Dean’s brother and two adult children that were now living out of state. Jack and Claire were implied to be from Cas’s life before Dean. 

It was just touchy and vague enough that polite midwestern folks didn’t directly ask about the scandalous and homosexual details in their cover story. 

Dean had only ever had to talk about what Cas was to him directly a few months after he started at Jake’s. He started getting offers of group outings to bars and blind dates. Mimi had been telling him a lot of details about her single cousin Flora. Dean blurted out “I can’t date ever again because I’m with a man and it’s extremely serious,” like a doctor had diagnosed him terminally bisexual. Gave her the bare details and tried like hell to act like he’d never mentioned it before because he was just so nonchalantly out and proud.

So… Dean was bad at coming out. It was the only time he’d ever done it, so that’s not a big shock. But he wished he’d have just said at the time he was married. It wasn't like plenty of people didn't already assume they were married, just by seeing them together.

There was nothing he could ever say that would make other people, civilians especially, understand how deep Cas was wove into his soul, but maybe if he’d said that Dean wouldn’t feel so much like he was lying about Cas. Saying my husband Cas would have been just as much of a technical lie as my boyfriend Cas, but he thought he’d like to say it more.

Dean cleared his throat, and wrapped his knuckles on the desk as he walked away. “See you later, ladies. I’ve got a date with my boyfriend.”

~*~


	2. i get a... strange magic oh what a... strange magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas smelled like sweat and BO and faintly like potting soil. The fact that this made Dean _mmmmm_ in response said something either really gross or really rad about what long term relationships did to a person. Dean couldn’t tell. 
> 
> Gross **and** rad, he decided.
> 
> ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for sexual stuff i guess. not graphic and not all that sexual really. just sensual touching. 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> ~*~

~*~

The drive home to the bunker was kind of a long commute by design. A lifetime of marathon driving sessions meant the 35 minute drive home was usually relaxing for Dean. A little chance to unwind, barring any stressed out hunter trying to get a hold of him about why their supposedly simple salt and burn wasn’t taking or a paranoid call from Sam when he couldn’t get a hold of Cas for some reason. 

But today, he was thinking a lot of Thoughts. Kinda weird Elisa brought up getting hitched. On today of all days. He _had_ been thinking of, well, not fixing it, but doing something for a long time. And Elisa had kinda put a hat on it, and well, coincidence made him nervy. 

Dean usually tried to ignore the bluetooth set up in Baby-- he’d finally been overrun by constant nagging in the name of how much more music he’d be able to access on his phone and working in a garage where people did those upgrades. Well, it sucked that everyone was right, but now the wait was bugging him, but he scrolled through his phone to find his Cas playlist to make the drive go faster.

When he got home, Dean nearly jogged inside -- his still healing knee made it more of a hobble. 

Today, Cas was training some kids sent their way by Claire. She found them on the trail of a vampire nest and totally underprepared to take it on. The soonest they could get to Kansas had been Thursday. And it had been easier to just let them stay overnight, so Cas had more time to get them prepped.

Instead of heading straight for the shower, Dean took out an excited and elderly Miracle to the bathroom and his afternoon walk. At his age, fortunately for Dean’s knee, it was a ten minute walk, max. They came back in and shared a string cheese. He thought about emptying out the little compost bin in the kitchen, but he'd probably get it wrong with Cas's new vermiculture bins in the garage and that just seemed like a one way ticket to another lecture Dean didn’t want to hear. He also just didn't want to think about the worms in his garage right now.

Dean checked the bowl outside the kitchen for Cas’s stupid cat. Cas had argued that it would be beneficial to have a mouser because human habitation in the bunker blah blah blah, ventilation and food storage yadda yadda yadda. And Eileen and Sam had backed him up saying the bunker was so big, it wouldn’t affect Dean’s allergies all that much. But Dean was pretty sure it was all just a sneaky plan because the first thing Cas did was name the little monster Mafdet after some ancient cat goddess, bought a quilted cat bed, and handed Dean a bottle of claritin. Now there were freaking cat highways all over the place she used to hiss at Dean from whenever he had to take a leak or get a snack in the middle of the night. Whatever, she mostly stayed out of his way and made Cas happy.

Dean cracked open a tin of soft food for the cat even though that was Cas’s responsibility and followed the usual Cas-finding trail. It wasn’t likely he took the students into his grow rooms, but sometimes he talked to people there because he was just more comfortable in his hot smelly rooms surrounded by flowers and mushroom tanks, but they weren’t there. Then Dean went to the research library, the study, and then the practice room. And Cas’s little student group must have covered as much as they could with lore and unarmed combat, because the scene Dean walked into was a bunch of punk kids surrounding Cas with knives. 

Suppressing the immediate urge to rush in, Dean leaned hard against the doorway and just thought about why he continued to love someone so determined to give him a coronary. 

Cas was running the kids through armed sparring. They must have been at unarmed combat for a while before. Cas had some sweat lines under his pits and the girls’ hair looked a little frazzled. In one subtly slick move, Cas used the boy to show them how to use someone’s knife against them in a rear chokehold.

It was a very unneeded reminder just how fucking hot Cas was in a fight. Those were few and far between to see these days, which was great, actually, a fucking relief. But seeing the sharp focus in his eyes, the precise and sure way he held a knife. Did not help that Cas was indeed wearing his slutty yoga pants. They were basically the same as all the other stupid lounge pants he wore around the bunker once he’d been mostly human enough to realize that some clothes had better textures than others. Except he had these light grayish blue ones that grazed Cas’s butt and the outline of his dick like they were trying to make Dean jealous. 

Seeing him at work, well, it just made Dean feel all fluttery inside. 

Dean thought maybe the skinny girl with brown hair, Tara, maybe?, was thinking the same thing he was, the way she scanned over Cas’ forearms, baby blues, and thighs as he worked her friend over. He couldn’t really blame her and he kept nagging Cas not to wear those damn pants in mixed company. It was just indecent. Dean winked at her and she blushed.

Cas wasn’t really taking them to task or anything at the moment-- stopping every once in a while to rearrange someone’s stance or handhold, pressing the edge of his hand against exposed weak points of each of the kids. Maybe these kids had gotten familiar with shotguns, but they were pretty obviously uncomfortable with knives in their hands. 

That had been somewhat standard, though, in Dean’s post-semi-retirement life. New hunters that came to them usually very much lacked basic hand-to-hand or emergency triage skills. And when they were new to the concept of semi-retirement, even when Dean was still hunting full time but thinking about slowing down, Dean used to flip out over it. 

“I mean who the fuck is training these kids?” 

Kindly not pointing out that it was Dean’s inheritance of fighting the supernatural was far more unusual, even though that’s exactly what both them were thinking, Cas said, “We are.” 

He struggled with it initially, his role as a hunter switching to someone who helped _make_ more hunters. He didn’t want more people inducted into hunting. But people got dragged into this life, usually through tragedy, and needed to learn as much as they could, as fast as they could or they’d get dead. Or worse, the whole damn mess could drive them to become like John Winchester, bringing their world crashing down around their own families. There was certainly no guarantee they would get a Bobby Singer handed to them to help them navigate through it. 

If he could be a fraction of that to someone who needed it, well, then, he could make his peace with it. 

One of the kids in the practice room, the girl with dyed green hair he thought was called Alaina, caught one of Cas’s overhand attacks. She made the mistake of trying to overpower him instead of getting out of his range of attack. As Dean suspected, Cas’s next move was to let go of his knife and used his free hand to catch the falling blade. He gently pressed the knife handle under the girl’s exposed ribs in a silent expression of _this is how I’d kill you if this fight were real_. 

Dean couldn’t help it. He wolf-whistled. He loved that move. “Come on, hot stuff!” Dean cheered. 

The kids laughed a little at the break in tension. Or at the momentary relief of not being the sole focus of Cas’s attention, which could be overwhelming for normal people. 

Cas looked over, not surprised by Dean’s appearance, but not welcoming him into the demonstration either. Dean was still persona non grata in any situation where he could get tripped. But he took full advantage of enjoying the view. Cas’s eyes were dark with purpose but a light red flush turned up on his cheekbones. He gave Dean a ‘I’ll wrap this up in a minute’ look. Other than that, he continued to ignore Dean.

“You’re bound by gravity,” he said, like someone who didn’t always used to follow the rules of physics. “If a stronger, heavier opponent is bearing down on you the best thing you can do is try to get out of the way and force a fall. Never waste your own energy if you can use someone else’s.” 

Not that Dean or Cas had always been good at following through on that in their own lives, but it was solid, safe advice for kids that were probably going to be facing many opponents stronger than they were. 

“But who said for sure you’re the stronger opponent,” green-haired girl said. “You’re just a dude.”

She was shorter than Cas but had broad-ish shoulders under her denim jacket and pretty muscular legs in her skinny jeans and combat boots. She looked like a healthy, capable, athletic twentysomething, ready to rumble. And it wasn’t like Cas looked sickly or anything, but by comparison he appeared to be a guy in his mid-50s with lots of crow’s feet, permanent eye baggage, and now pretty pronounced salt and pepper. Not quite slim anymore, not obviously muscular. He was even barefoot, and wearing lounge pants and an old bleach-stained Iron Maiden t-shirt of Dean’s. He looked like he was just off a wake and bake, instead of leading a knife fight workshop. 

“She’s got a point,” Dean said from the peanut gallery. “You look kinda tired. I’d put my money on her.” 

Despite knowing the drill from Claire, that the two older men were basically Claire’s dads and the bunker was a training center where Dean and Cas were a team, the girl preened a little at the compliment. 

Cas gave Dean a withering glare. And then with a speed and economy of moment Dean knew these kids would not have expected, Cas disarmed Alaina and dropped low to sweep her legs from underneath her. It was quick and violent enough that the other two froze in a moment of debating whether to move away from Cas’s threat range or back up their friend, unsure where their leisurely lesson was going. 

Dean laughed, but felt a little bad. If his knee were up to snuff, Cas probably might’ve taken Dean’s antagonism out on Dean. 

“One, the most dangerous monsters don’t look it, for exactly that reason. Two, you have no idea how to gauge an opponent's experience level when you are yourself so inexperienced,” Cas lectured. “It’s safer to assume you’re at a disadvantage.” 

Green-haired girl glared up at Cas from the floor. “So you’re saying always be afraid. We’re helpless.” 

“No, you’re being purposefully obtuse. I didn’t say either of those things.” 

Dean took a few concerned steps forward. “What he means is basically err on the side of caution. Look, I baited you. You’re young and ready for a fight, so I fed that because I knew Cas can kick your ass. Cas can kick a lot of people’s asses. You’d be stupid to be offended by that; it’s a big club. Here in the bunker, that’s safe and you can learn from that. Out there, you may not be able to survive if you don’t adapt quickly to everything you learn.”

“Fear is part of becoming human,” Cas said. “Whether it helps or hinders you depends on your reaction to fear, not having fear itself.”

If Cas caught that he used the wrong verb for people who were always human, Dean couldn't tell. Didn’t really matter. It applied either way.

“Trying to use good judgment is part of coaching your reaction to fear. It’s a skill that takes a long time to develop.” Cas, very briefly looked over at Dean, thoughtful and reticent for just a second, before schooling his face to stern blankness. “A very long time. And that skill itself is much inferior to listening to… the people who have your best interests at heart, and seeking out their support. It’s them, after all, who are most likely to be hurt when you act rashly, prematurely, based on… faulty information.” 

It looked like Dean wasn’t the only one to use his birthday to ruminate about the past. 

It was advice, barely generalized, for the group in front of him, but clearly referencing something specific in Cas’s mind. Didn’t couldn’t really guess the particular thing from the past plaguing Cas-- they’d had more than their fair share of moments hurting each other because of their fears, trying to judge what was best without _really_ knowing what the other was thinking. All of them Dean had already forgiven years ago, but he knew extremely well it was hardest to forgive yourself. Dean’s hand twitched, and even his knee felt weak with forward give like he could barely contain not reaching out for Cas in that moment. 

To their credit, the kids could tell there was some kind of meaningful doublespeak going on, but without knowing what they could only look around awkwardly. 

Cas turned away for a second and threw the two knives in his possession into the big wooden target they had for knife and axe throwing, casually wowing the kids without noticing. Then he came back and extended a hand to the green-haired girl. 

When she almost hesitantly took it to stand back up, Cas said, “Also when you’re falling, tuck your tailbone. You need to practice that. Are you ready?” 

“Wait, ready for what?” 

She wasn’t ready enough to sidestep Cas, but she did tuck her tailbone that time. 

Dean stuck around until Cas was ready to usher the kids out of the bunker. Cas seemed eager to wrap up with them, but refused all assistance from Dean, and kept telling him to sit down somewhere. Dean stubbornly remained, mostly leaning against the practice room wall, and listed creative ways garot a vampire with helpful demonstrations and helped pack a case of holy water for them when they left anyway. He tacked on as many pitiful words of wisdom he could think of, hoping anything or everything would help them hold it together. 

_Do your recon. Don’t draw attention to yourself._

_Stick together. Watch each other’s backs. Call when you need help._

_Trust each other._

When they were driving away, Dean finally gave in and pressed right into Cas’s side and slid his arm around Cas’s back. The air was chilly, but it wasn’t snowing yet. He wanted to touch more than that, but settled for behaving like a normal person and not mauling Cas in the open air like a horny teenager. He gripped the spot right above Cas’s hipbone as the kids drove away. 

“Think they’ll be alright?” 

Cas took a long silence. The question was unanswerable, really. Luck had more to do with it than anyone wanted to know. But Cas was the one to spend time with them. 

“They want to do good. They feel the need. We put them in touch with some other hunters who might be able to help. We gave them supplies, a little more knowledge. I’m hopeful.” 

Dean nodded. If Cas thought they were disastrously unprepared or wouldn’t take advice, he would have probably waylaid the kids, and maybe would have gotten Claire or somebody else to arrange a group to look into their vamps instead. Hopeful was really the best anyone could get and anything more concrete than that was just a guess. 

Dean still liked to hear it out loud though. 

After a long moment of looking handsome and stoic in profile, squinting at the horizon the car full of young hunters had disappeared into, Dean’s resolve broke down. He pulled Cas into his arms, chest to chest, and kissed him. And kissed him again, and then again for a long, deep, tongueful time. Cas’s hands slid up Dean’s back to his shoulders and back down. Cas’s right hand even kneaded into that spot just above his tailbone that always felt tight at the end of the day. Cas found it right away every time. 

Dean took a deep breath, breaking the kiss, and just taking a second in the quiet to just feel Cas, to hold him because he had him there. He brushed against the side of Cas’ face, nose breathing into his hairline. In turn, Cas let his forehead rest on Dean’s jaw, and he kissed at the crook of Dean’s neck. Cas smelled like sweat and BO and faintly like potting soil. The fact that this made Dean _mmmmm_ in response said something either really gross or really rad about what long term relationships did to a person. Dean couldn’t tell. 

Cas’s hand followed the line of Dean’s half unzipped, motor oil smeared coveralls to the open collar and smiled a rare beatifically untroubled smile. “You smell terrible.” 

Gross and rad, Dean decided. 

Dean’s malingering paid off because it meant he and Cas could take a shower together. It meant they got to undress together, which was always fun. 

It was also slightly necessary, because apparently Dean’s knee was feeling stickier than he’d thought. The moment he pulled up his leg to get out of his coveralls a sludgy pulse of pain radiated out of his knee and there was that moment of doubt he’d be able to extend his leg again. Dean didn’t say anything, but Cas still noticed. He pushed Dean’s shoulders flat on the bed and untangled Dean from his pant leg. 

“That turned out less sexy than I was aiming for,” Dean said through a sigh, slowly unbending his knee. It detracted a bit from seeing Cas pull off his slutty yoga pants and underwear all in one go. 

Cas, always oblivious to his own nudity, didn’t hesitate to go nursemaid and check Dean’s motility the same as he’d been doing for the last few weeks, but with his cock and balls totally exposed like that didn’t matter. He wrapped a warm hand around Dean’s calf and massaged down to his ankle, gentle and slow. He held on until Dean extended his leg as much as he could, then guided the heel of Dean's foot up to the vicinity of Cas’s shoulder. 

“Too much?” 

Dean could definitely feel the stretch in his hamstring but his knee wasn't locked. He was able to keep a little bend because Cas wasn't standing too close, so he shook his head. 

Then Cas did put Dean's heel on his shoulder, sliding one hand down to release the velcro strips of Dean's knee brace. He tossed it aside and rubbed the underside of Dean's calf. 

After a minute of that, Dean's focus drifted from eyeing naked Cas to twinges of discomfort that couldn’t be overcome by soft hands. Cas must've seen it in his face because he eased Dean's leg down to bed level, gently bending and unbending his knee the way down. Then Cas did step in between Dean’s legs, much closer, his hands massaging the meat of Dean’s inner thighs, very slightly moving his thighs apart. 

“You should stretch the other leg, for balance,” Cas said, the tone of his voice deeply unprofessional compared to his words, making eye contact back and forth approximately in the area of Dean’s mouth and Dean’s chest. 

Having spent most of the day feeling busted and old, Dean was pretty pleased he could flip the switch on Cas’s fierce and lustful gaze that quick, even while still wearing his old man lumbar support belt. 

Dean easily pressed the soul of his good leg’s foot on Cas’s chest. “Wow, babe, I get this kind of vibe you’re not just doing this for my health.” 

Cas hefted this leg with less gentless above his shoulder. He kissed the inside of Dean’s ankle up to his calf up to his knee. Then there he was, kneeling on the bed, looming into his space suddenly with a determined hungry look. With his leg draped over Cas’s shoulder, Dean flexed a little to pull him in closer. Cas’s hand snaked unto the leg of his jockies and curled ponderously around Dean’s dick, and then his sack. It was more like the slow massaging he’d been doing, than actively jacking him off, though his dick was definitely starting to twitch in interest.

There was a little quiet verbless rumble from Cas’s throat before he spoke. mouthing at Dean’s neck and jaw. “You need to abide by a routine of gentle, healthy exercise.” Then like he was simply too annoyed to tolerate it anymore, Cas pulled away, letting Dean’s good leg bounce back on the mattress. He snapped the elastic band of Dean’s briefs a little too much. “Off,” Cas demanded. 

Dean wasn’t about to deny him, even though it was several hours before he’d assumed they’d get to this point. He still hassled him about it as he wriggled out of his underwear. “We haven’t even made it to the shower yet and you’re all up on my dick. Thought I smelled terrible.” 

“Your filthy car onesie smelled terrible.” 

“ _Don’t_ call it a onesie,” Dean tried to say firmly, even though he was laughing a little, and Cas never stopped doing shit like that. 

Cas just ignored him and picked up Dean’s thighs with a push. Dean took the hint and was happy to shuffle himself up the bed a little more. Cas pulled open the velcro strip to take off Dean’s lumbar belt, which he was less happy about. Dean didn’t like wearing it, but he needed to-- nearly 40 years of digging, fighting, hauling, and all the other shit a hunter had to do hadn’t been kind to his knees or his back. The decades of beers and burgers had also built up, and since his hunting life had slowed way down, Dean’s spare tire had, uh, expanded a bit. When Cas let loose the tension in his belt, Dean didn’t feel totally unlike William Shatner being let out of his girdle. 

Dean lifted his hips as much as he could to help Cas get the thing from under him, but he couldn’t help feel the sexy vibe leech from him a little. 

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled. 

Cas didn’t hesitate to crawl on top of him, setting most of his weight down on Dean’s hips but careful not to knock Dean’s knee with his foot. “What for?” 

Being a little flabby these days didn’t normally bother him too much. Neither of them were as fighting fit as they were ten years ago, or even five. Cas was utterly human now, his former vessel now fully the meat and bones walked the world in, felt in, and aged in. Cas had his own battles with the world of physical limitations too. He ran, meditated, generally ate better than Dean, and took a special enthusiasm in fight training would-be hunters, but he also had a fucked up shoulder, bad eyesight, and a coffee addiction. So of course Cas wasn’t as limitless as he’d been on angel software. And he wasn’t as skinny as he'd been when Jimmy handed over his pilates and protein shake ass to Cas either. That’s just what age and semi-retirement did. 

But with the bad knee, the bad back, and Cas all _doctoring_ him the nude looking like a salt and pepper snack, Dean felt a little lacking in comparison. 

And he knew if he said anything, the Spock to his Kirk here would just tell him it was an illogical thing to worry about since Cas was in love with Dean’s soul, and had given up being an immortal angel for Dean, and was currently sitting naked on top of him. 

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… feel bad I’m such a slug right now. You’re taking care of everything.” _Me,_ he did not say. _I hate being a drain at the same time I get a perverse thrill out of letting you be the only one I let take care of me like this,_ he did not say.

He’d gotten better at sharing, but, you know. 

And sure enough, Cas barely contained a disapproving eyeroll and slipped the palms of his hands over Dean’s chest down to the soft sides of his belly. “That’s nothing you need to worry about. It’s not a chore.” Cas lifted a hand and brushed over Dean’s forehead. For a second there was the old familiar feeling of shivering nerves before Cas healed him, but that little electric embrace of grace touching him from cell to cell was long gone. Cas just had warm hands now. Not entirely un-electric in their own way.

“I’ll always take care of you, Dean. The same you do for me.”

Cas bent down for a kiss, and Dean took it.

Dean sighed. “We do need to actually get in the shower and get going.” 

That made Cas look grumpy and he pushed back against Dean’s hips spitefully. “Fine. I guess we don’t have time for handjobs in the shower either then.” 

“Well... “

Cas pushed his hands down on Dean’s shoulders and abruptly got off of him. “No. We’re going to be late,” Cas said in the extremely malicious tone of someone who never ever cared about being on time anywhere before that very moment. 

Dean sighed and allowed himself to be pulled back off the bed. And they even kept the shower relatively hands off, because Cas was pretty dedicated to proving a point when he wanted to be. Especially when it was annoying to Dean. 

Once they were clean-clean, Dean wrapped a towel around his waist. He pecked Cas on the cheek and realized this was his narrow window of opportunity. 

“Hon. Sweetheart.” Dean said with exaggerated sweetness. “Angel.”

Cas’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Yes, Dean.” 

“Would you wanna shave that handsome mug for me, babe?” 

Cas only had a slightly prickly, maybe, 5 or 7 o’clock shadow, and in all honestly Dean really liked the scrape of it more often than not, but Dean just needed a delay tactic. 

“You have some kind of plan that requires me to be close shaven?” 

“Maybe I just want you to feel baby smooth when you’re between my thighs later?” 

Cas raised his eyebrows at being fed a brassy line, but opened the door of the medicine cabinet anyway. “I was teasing before, but now I really don’t know about how,” he paused for air quotes, “‘lucky’ you’re going to get this weekend.” 

“Well, you know me, I’m--” 

“Presumptuous?” Cas said with a hard squint.

“Eternally hopeful.” Dean didn’t really have a lot of time before Cas was finished with a quick shave, but anyway he smiled at Cas lathering up. “Love you, Cas.” 

Cas only looked at him in the mirror but the grumpy set to his eyes and jaw relaxed, and said without hesitation, “I love you too, Dean.” 

Dean slipped back into their room and got Cas’s gift out of the hiding place in the side pocket of Dean’s dust-gathering go bag underneath the bed. 

He palmed the box as best he could, in case Cas walked in early, and he walked into the closet to pull on his knee brace and rapid-change into his date clothes. He put on his nice jeans since Hanneman’s was nice, but not, like, _fancy_ , and they made his ass look hot, and shoved the small box in a front jean pocket. The left one so Cas was less likely to reach into it on a whim, because sometimes Cas got horny whims and he had never once respected the idea of Dean’s personal space. 

With his secret still secret, Dean pretended to weigh his clothing options, like he hadn’t already decided he was going to wear the cowboy boots Cas got him for his birthday last year. Since he only got to turn 50 once, Dean decided to go all out. By the time Cas leaned into the small walk-in closet, Dean was fastening his bolo tie with the montana agate slide, also a previous birthday present from Cas. 

Cas wasn’t even wearing a towel because he was a nuisance in addition to being a goddamn maniac.

Dean never learned to accept Cas’s extremely casual nudism with any kind of equal casualness, and something about his birthday made him way too eager to touch, so Dean leaned over just to pet the smooth and freshly moisturized angle of Cas’s jawline. Against his intentions, Dean’s hands slid down Cas’s neck and chest, over scars and enochian sigils that developed after Cas’s humanity, and stopped roughly at Cas’s hips. Dean’s thumbs traced the ridges of his hip bones. Really, Dean wasn’t trying to make it sexual. Without anyone around, without anything to preoccupy their time but being together, he just couldn’t resist being this close. 

“We’re running late,” Dean said, kissing Cas’s neck. 

“If we didn’t need to eat somewhere two hours away.”

“What, now you don’t wanna go?” 

“No, that’s not what I said.”

“We have a reservation, Cas.” 

Cas leaned against Dean a little more, tipping his head back. Dean couldn’t help kissing that little exposed dip in his clavicle. “A reservation at Hanneman’s isn’t exactly the hardest to procure.” 

“You wanna stay home? You’re gonna have to make me a steak.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to stay home. I’m just saying you could pick a more convenient locale.” 

“What is your problem with Hanneman’s? You always liked it.” 

“I like it just fine. And I want you to have your enormously oversized slab of birthday meat. You’re the one who’s always worried about getting there on time.” 

“And you’re making us even later with your yapping! Get dressed, weirdo!”

Cas huffed a laugh. “Then let go of me so I can do that.”

Dean scowled and pulled away, unimpressed with this verbal trap Cas somehow laid for him. But whatever. He could definitely have patience. 

No life or death emergencies to pull anyone away. No cockblocking family members hanging around for at least another day. No reasons to fear or find discomfort in the waiting, either. 

Dean had a plan and he wanted to follow it. He had a whole once in a lifetime 50th birthday weekend ahead of him to exploit to its full potential. He did want to pace himself. He could luxuriate in it like he never could when he was younger. 

Dean stepped out of the walk-in but still watched Cas get dressed. He still dressed in a lot of layers when they went out, but usually wound up looking like a confused professor. And he always kifed an item or two of Dean’s. And Dean watched him put on both Dean’s black briefs and white button down. And sure, when Cas walked out he was wearing tan slacks and a dark green sweater with elbow patches, which a jacket folded over his arm. 

“Elbow patches?” Dean snorted. 

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m not going to dress up like a cowboy just because it's your birthday.” 

“Shut up. Are you ready?”

Cas nodded. “Are you?” 

Dean straightened his belt and ran a hand over the gift box in his pocket. “Oh, I’ve actually been ready for a while.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~*~
> 
> somehow, by god, we will actually get to the date portion of this date. 
> 
> part 3 coming jan 30th. EDIT: oops lift shit i'm running late, still working on it. 
> 
> thank you for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> ~*~
> 
> also wanted to say this story was partly inspired by "working man" by rush, and the specific idea that dean's hard on for working class masculinity and identity wound through his work ethic would be absolutely ignited by that song, but also his knees are bad :( this song is on [a very dope fanmix by my wonderful friend dori](https://plavapticica.tumblr.com/post/635695595646009344/touched-by-an-angel-fanmix-supernatural). it is all dean style dad rock and it fucks, i'm sorry if this hurts you, but it does.


End file.
